Belarus
by IseultLaBelle
Summary: Ange gets Chloe ready to face the world again for the first time since her rape. (And worries obsessively, of course, because she's Ange.). Warning: contains references to rape and self-harm in line with scenes from the show.


**Before you start, there are a couple of things you need to know, or this won't make sense: **

**This story was written almost exclusively on various trains yesterday and edited today. If it's a bit all over the place, I'm sorry! It's one of three post Divine Justice one shots I'm finishing at the moment that are all inspired by the brilliant Cormac McCarthy's use of dialogue in his 2006 novel _The Road_. You'll know what I mean if you've read it, but if you haven't, I can't recommend it enough. But that's why it's so different to my usual style. **

**Chvrches are a Glaswegian synth-pop band. Their most well-known song is The Mother We Share, which Holby actually used in the episode in which Evan's spy camera is found, when Fletch is in the pub and finds the app. (And yes, bizarrely, I'd been posting my fanfic named after the same song for a month before that episode aired!) **

**In 1986, a nuclear reactor exploded at the Chernobyl power plant in Ukraine, then the Soviet Union. To this day, it's considered the worst nuclear disaster in history, and the nuclear fallout had a particularly devastating impact in Belarus. Huge expanses of Belarus remain uninhabitable due to radiation exposure, and in the years after the accident, Belarusian doctors particularly struggled to manage the impact on local children. In 1988, 83 children in Belarus were reported to have thyroid gland problems. By 1989 this number was 807, and by 1990 it had risen to almost 10,000. These children were are remain to this day at a hugely elevated risk of developing cancer and various other diseases, as a result of the contaminated environments in which they live. By the 90s, Belarusian doctors knew that a four week trip abroad, away from the effects of the nuclear fallout, could increase a child's life expectancy by up to two years. This led to the founding of a number of charities that sent Belarusian and Ukrainian children and teenagers to parts of the UK for a four week holiday to improve their life expectancy- you may be aware of this already if you watch Derry Girls. **

**Although these schemes didn't start officially until Ukraine and Belarus became independent in the 90s, this phenomenon had already been observed. Despite what most people think, it wasn't impossible to leave the Soviet Union in the late 80s- particularly for families with connections to the Soviet elite, who would have been the most informed as to the true impact of the radiation released from Chernobyl to the Belarusian populations. We will most likely never know, due to the secrecy surrounding Soviet records (and particularly those concerning Chernobyl), but I don't think it would be totally unreasonable to assume that there were Belarusian teens visiting the UK on before the Chernobyl Children schemes were officially operating. There were also of course defectors. **

**This might seem totally off topic, but I promise if you keep this in mind and you pay attention, there will be an 'oh' moment right at the end. (And please do tell me if you get it, I would love to know if you do!)**

**As ever, reviews are much appreciated! **

**-IseultLaBelle x **

_'__With your grace as inspiration, _

_I will prove my love to you_

_When I stand in polished armour on the field._

_I will bow towards your beauty _

_as you stand beside your father,_

_With passion in my heart I shall not yield.'_

\- _Heather Dale, Inspiration (History of Ealdormere)_

"How did this happen?" asks Chloe, meets Ange's eyes in her dressing table mirror.

(Ange's dressing table, that is. Chloe hasn't been home in almost a week. Not since it happened.)

"How did what happen?" Ange's face twists in concentration, dabs the colour corrector on over the bruise on Chloe's cheek.

"This. You, appointing yourself as my personal stylist for the afternoon."

"Well, because as gorgeous as you look in your penguin onesie from the kids' section, sweetheart, I think you'll feel better if we put some makeup on you and find you some proper clothes before you go out."

"I'm going to the cafe around the corner with Nicky and Cam, not BAFTA Scotland."

"I know, but trust me. You'll feel better. Is this really the palest foundation you've got?"

"Which one is it, the shell one? Then yes. That's the one I use every day unless by some miracle I've managed to tan not burn, Mum, I promise you won't turn me orange."

"It looks too dark. Clearly you're just very pale, then."

"I'm always pale."

"You're not normally this pale. Are you sure you're feeling alright? The pain isn't getting worse..."

"I'm _fine_."

"Okay. Okay, I believe you, you're fine. Stay still for me, then. Do you know what you're wearing? And don't say that thing."

"Hey, I thought you said you liked my penguin onesie."

"Yep, and I also said if we make you look beautiful in a stunning sort of way, rather than a just got out of bed sort of way, you might feel a bit more human again. I wish I'd worked that one out sooner. You know. When it happened to me. Trust me, you'll feel so much better if we get you out the house for a bit and we dress you up. There you go, see? I told you I was brilliant at covering up cuts and bruises, you can hardly see them at all now."

"You're pretty good. My left cheek is still in a completely different solar system to my right, though."

"That's because it's your own face, you always overanalyse when it's your own face. You look beautiful. No one's going to notice, Chloe, I promise. Tilt your head for me?"

"Oh my god, no, Mum, you're not putting your bronzer on me."

"I'm just doing a tiny bit to make you look less sickly, you're definitely not normally this pale."

"Yep, and look. Look at how tanned you are compared to me, and think about it. Anything you use as bronzer is going to make me look like a contestant off that game show thing you and Dom were watching last night."

"Ru Paul's drag race. I promise I'm not putting that much make up on you..."

"It's not about quantity. Trust me. Even if you put microscopic amounts of that stuff on my face, you're still going to make me look like Casper the Friendly Ghost wearing orange war paint. You could probably contour my face with your foundation powder, to be honest."

"Okay. Okay, fine, we won't bother with the contouring, then. But can I use this blush on you? Please? It looks awful on me, it barely shows up, but it would look lovely on you."

"Sure. If you want."

"Right answer. Trust me, I know I'm right, you'll love it. Come on then, so outfit. What do you have with you here?"

"I've got no idea, to be honest. I haven't really looked through the bag of stuff Nicky dropped off properly."

"No, you've just been stealing my pyjamas instead. Okay. I think you've got those flowy trouser things, and then you can borrow one of my jumpers? Proper clothes, not pyjamas, but you'll still be comfortable."

"Can I wear your Chvrches t shirt too?"

"Only if I get it back."

"Deal. What are you doing to me now?"

"Highlighter."

"You do know I'm supposed to know more about makeup than you do, right? Not the other way round."

"I'm not sure that rule applies with our age difference."

"No, fair enough."

"Do you like the blush?"

"It's pretty. Kind of... I don't know. Rose petal."

"Perfect, it's yours, then."

"Are you sure, Mum? That wasn't exactly cheap, was it, if it's..."

"I'm sure. It doesn't suit me at all, I wanted it to, but it doesn't. I'm not going to use it again until the next time I do your makeup."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Right, what am I doing to your eyes?"

"Not too much. If you could draw my eyebrows on so they're actually visible, that'd be great. I don't want eyeshadow. Other than that I don't mind."

"Okay. What do you use on your eyebrows?"

"The Glossier stuff. White packaging, there's a pen thing and a gel. You have to kind of dab the pen thing on."

"Got it. Have you thought about what you want for dinner later? I've got you soup for lunch."

Chloe shudders. "I honestly can't face the thought of food."

"Definitely not my cooking, then. I've got some of those veggie burger things in the freezer? Veggie burger and chips? And salad?"

"I'll try, but I'm not promising anything."

"Good girl. Close your eyes for me? Okay. Don't panic, but I'm doing blue eyeliner. It sounds weird, but it's such a dark blue it's practically black, it just doesn't look as harsh. You're still looking a bit peaky. I know food isn't doing anything for you at the moment, sweetheart, but you really do need to try and eat. Okay? You're cold all the time because you're too thin."

"Yep, I'd worked that out for myself, thanks."

"Okay. Okay, I'm glad to hear it. Not glad to hear you can't face food, obviously. Glad you're aware you need to be eating more. I could see your ribcage, when you were getting changed last night…"

"Right, can you stop commenting on my body, please."

"Alright. I'm sorry, Chloe, I've stopped. Okay? Conversation over, I promise. Anyway. Is that how you like your eyeliner?"

"Umm hmm. I didn't think I was going to like the blue, but it's quite nice, actually."

"See, I told you. It's just not quite as harsh as black. And it really brings out the blue in your eyes, doesn't it? You look _beautiful_. You're doing your mascara, though, I don't want to ruin it now. And then lipstick? I'm thinking a pale peach colour with some orange undertones."

"Are you _sure_?"

"I'm positive. I know it's not what you'd usually go for, but trust me, you'd look gorgeous. You do your mascara, I'll find what I'm talking about. It makes me look like mutton dressed as lamb, but it'll be perfect on you, just let me find it."

"Okay. Why do you have so much makeup you think suits me, not you?"

"Because I have the most beautiful daughter, and whenever I go shopping for myself I forget I can't get away with things that would suit your colouring. Right, what do you think of that? Frosted apricot, I think it's called. You don't look convinced."

"I mean, it's pretty. I just wouldn't normally go for that kind of thing."

"Can I try it on you? Please? It's only lipstick, isn't it, you can wipe it off if you don't like it."

"Yeah, okay."

"Perfect. Dressing you up is so much more fun than doing my own makeup."

"You make me sound like a doll, or something."

"You are, you're my doll. Look at me, then. You think this is bad, I used to go all-out dressing you up when you were little. Without the makeup, obviously, you just had the most impressive array of headbands and scrunchies ever, instead. And cute fluffy animal hats."

"Not much has changed then, really, has it? I can't believe you bought me a onesie in the kids' section."

"But you make such an adorable penguin, sweetheart. There you go. What do you think, then, do you like the lipstick?"

"You know what, I actually do."

"See, I told you it would suit you. You look beautiful, Chloe. Well, you always look beautiful, don't you, but you look particularly beautiful now. That really brings out your skin tone, you look like a Highland warrior queen."

"Am I half Icelandic?"

"Nope, you're one hundred percent your mother's daughter. You're a Scottish islander turned Glaswegian turned north easterner, you say Hogmanay, not New Year and I don't care how long you spend outside of Scotland, you vote SNP and you support Scotland and whoever plays against the English in the football. And if I ever catch you doing anything different I'm disowning you as my child."

"Yeah, but really, though."

"Why do you ask? Why Icelandic?"

"Because when you packed me off to the Blue Lagoon with... with... _Evan_... all the locals kept speaking to me in Icelandic. But they spoke English to him. And then they asked me where my family was from like I was supposed to say a small village outside of Reykjavik, or something. Or… I don't know. If not Icelandic, something like that. Am I half Scandinavian?"

"I don't know," Ange lies.

"Maybe I should do one of those ancestry DNA things. You know, where they tell you your heritage. I mean, we'd be able to be able to pick out the bits from your side, wouldn't we, they're just going to be Scottish through and through with maybe a faint trace of Irish and Viking. And French. You know, with Granddad's surname. It should be pretty easy to tell what the rest of it is."

"Well, we can talk about that another time," Ange tries casually. "Now probably isn't the moment to be making a decision like that, sweetheart. It's still so soon after…"

"You do know, don't you?"

"I... maybe."

"Would you tell me? If I wanted to know."

"If you were sure you wanted to know, then yes. Yes, I would tell you. But I need you to think about whether you really want me to. As far as I'm concerned, you're my daughter. You're me. My DNA, my history. I don't see why anything else matters. But if you were sure you wanted me to, then yes. I would tell you."

"Can… Can I think about it?"

"Of course you can, lovely girl. You can do whatever you want. Okay? I'm glad you want to think about it first, I don't think it's the best idea to be having this conversation just now, is it? Not after everything you've been through this week. You're still in shock, sweetheart, you need to give yourself some time to process what's happened to you before you make any decisions about that, I think. Everything must feel a bit… I don't know. I'm not going to pretend I understand that part, because I can't. But I can imagine that it might be difficult to know what you really want where all that's concerned at the moment, you're still trying to make sense of what happened to you in your head, aren't you? But it's your decision. How much you want me to tell you, what you want to do with that information, that's completely your decision. And whatever you decide, you'll always be my baby, and I'll always love you more than anything else in the world. I promise. You're always going to come first. That'll never change. Nothing you say or do is ever, ever going to change that, because you're my baby girl and I love you."

"I love you too."

"Love you more, my penguin. Right, are you going to get dressed then, if I go and find you my Chvrches t shirt? Do you have a jumper preference?"

"Your dark green one?"

"Of course you can. That'll work with your trouser things. You can have some more codeine in ten, do you want me to go and get it for you? Yeah? And then I can leave you in peace while you get changed?"

"Yes. You're not staying in here if you're just going to watch me struggle out of my penguin onesie and make unhelpful comments. I'm not an anorexic teenager."

"I know, Chloe. I know you're not."

"I can look after myself."

"Yep, I know you can. I know you can, sweetheart, but I'm your mother, and less than a week ago I was terrified I'd lost you forever, so you're just going to have to humour me for a while."

"Did you actually think that?"

"Did I actually think I'd lost you?" Ange hugs her gently, rests her head against Chloe's. "I thought you were… after how you sounded on the phone, the background noise… when I first saw you outside I thought… I thought… you weren't moving, you weren't responding when I was shouting your name, I was… I was so scared you were…"

"Oh, Mum. I'm okay."

"See, it worries me when you say that. Of course you're not okay, Chloe, no one's expecting you to be okay just now. That's normal. I don't want you to be putting on a front for my benefit, alright? It's my job to look after you, not the other way around."

"You do know you take overprotective to a whole new level, right? I'm twenty-nine, Mum, not nine."

"No, I don't." Ange bends over, wraps her arms around her daughter tightly from behind, watches her expression carefully in the mirror. "Do I?"

"You so do. You always have done, it's just more obvious now because I've been a responsible adult for what, a decade, and you're still totally overprotective."

"Nope, you're just fiercely independent. And anyway, I don't care if I am overprotective. I'm your mum, you're stuck with me. So will you please give in and let me take care of you? Yeah? Your hands are freezing."

"My hands are always freezing."

"I know, and I worry about that, too. But you're not in too much pain? Do you want me to put your heat packs back in the microwave before you go out?"

"Cam and Nicky will be here in a bit."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes, my back is killing me and my thighs feel like I've run at a metal post, or something, and no, I'm not taking the heat packs to the café. I'm not an invalid."

"Alright. Alright, I'll go and get you the codeine then, okay? You get changed."

"Thank you. Are you sure I can't just wear this?"

"Yep. We'll find you one of my hats and a scarf, you'll be fine if we wrap you up warm."

"You just want to steal my onesie while I'm out, don't you?"

"Nope, I want to put it in the washing machine. Get changed, okay? I'm going to go and sort your codeine and find you a coat. If you need help getting down the stairs…"

"I will be fine!"

"Only you're still moving like you're…"

"I'm _fine_!"

"Okay!" Ange surrenders, pulls her bedroom door to behind her. "Okay, I believe you!"

She doesn't, of course.

But telling Chloe that isn't going to help matters.

"Oh, you look lovely, sweetheart," Ange comments gently, holds out the glass of water and the codeine as her daughter enters the kitchen.

She resists the temptation to pull her into her arms and hug her tightly, because she's hunched over slightly, arms wrapped protectively around her stomach as though she's guarding, in pain, and Ange's own jumper hangs off her loosely and she just looks so thin, so frail, as though she could break at any moment.

"Thank you." Chloe takes the water and the codeine gratefully, swallows.

"Do you feel better?"

"I feel more human. Less… less dirty."

"You aren't dirty. That's all in your head, Chloe, you are _not_dirty. Although I really am going to wash your onesie while you're out. Hey, relax, I'll stick it in the tumble dryer."

"Do I really smell that bad?"

"Of course you don't, don't be so silly. But you've basically worn it non-stop for a week, you will feel better if you let me wash it. I promise. And I'd much rather we wash your onesie than you scrape your skin half-raw in the shower."

"How do you know about that?"

"Because your arms were red when you came out the bathroom earlier. And I've… I've been there. I did that. You aren't dirty. There's nothing wrong with you, Chloe, nothing at all. It was him. Everything is wrong with _him_, and what he did, and you mustn't ever think any different. Okay? If I ask you a question, will you promise to give me an honest answer? It doesn't matter what the answer is, I just want you to be honest with me."

"… Alright."

"Have you been cutting?"

She's been worrying about this for days, convinced the warning signs were there but desperately hoping she was imagining it.

Chloe hesitates, eyes drop firmly to the floor, clams up, and at first, Ange thinks she's going to ignore the question.

Then, faintly, ever-so-slightly, she nods.

"Okay. Thank you, sweetheart, for trusting me. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm going out in a few minutes, Mum…"

"Okay. Okay, fair point. But do you want to talk about it later, we could…"

"No."

"Okay. That's fine. That's fine, we don't have talk about it. Where?"

"Bottom drawer of the left-hand bedside table in the spare room."

"Oh, alright. That wasn't what I meant, but I'm really glad you told me. Can I get rid of it?"

"Please?"

"Okay. I'll go and deal with it once you've gone, it's alright. Where have you…"

"Just." Chloe gestures awkwardly, embarrassed, places her hand on her stomach.

"Oh, Chloe. Okay. Do you need anything to...?"

"I found your antiseptic wipes in the bathroom, I'm fine. And no, you can't see."

"I wasn't going to ask if I could."

"Because I'm…"

"Because you're what?"

"Just…" Chloe shakes her head. "I feel so _disgusting_, Mum…"

"No, no, no, sweetheart. You're not disgusting. I promise you, you are not disgusting. I wasn't going to ask because you've already made it clear you want privacy with this sort of thing, and I'm going to respect that. But will you promise me you'll tell me if you need…"

"They're not that bad."

"Okay. But you'll tell me if that changes? And you promise you'll tell me if you start feeling like you want to hurt yourself again?"

Chloe nods wearily, wraps her arms around her mum's neck, silent.

"I know. I know, Chloe, it's shit, isn't it? I know it's shit. You're so brave, you know that? My beautiful, brave girl, I love you so much. But please don't hurt yourself. Please? For me? I hate the thought of you doing that to yourself."

"Because I'm going to look even more revolting."

"No, you aren't, Chloe. You don't look revolting, you could never look revolting. You're beautiful. Scars don't make you any less beautiful. Why on earth do you think I'd be more worried about that than your mental state?"

The doorbell rings loudly in the hallway.

"That'll be Cam and Nicky," says Chloe quietly.

"It probably will be, won't it? Okay. You get your shoes on, and do you want these? You know, to soften the blow of being separated from your onesie for a couple of hours."

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome, sweetheart. I'll get the door!" Ange calls, heads down the hallway, unlocks the front door to find a nervous looking Cam and Nicky huddled on the doorstep. "Hi. Chloe's just coming. Thank you," she whispers, knows full well that can't risk Chloe overhearing. "For suggesting this. She really needs to get out the house."

Cam smiles sympathetically. "She's a friend. How… how is she?"

"She's… struggling." She's not sure what of how she came into the world herself Chloe has told her flatmates, Ange reminds herself, can't risk putting her foot in it. "Emotionally, she's struggling, but she hides it well. She's still in a lot of pain- he… just from… you know. It was violent. She's just had her medication, she's okay for the next few hours. The café's only a five-minute walk or so and I think she needs the fresh air, to be honest, but I'll be in, if you think she's too sore to walk back…"

"We'll call you," Nicky finishes. "We'll look after her, Ange. Don't worry. She'll be fine. Hi, Chloe!" she calls.

Chloe shuffles into view slowly, slightly limping, tries to smile but she just looks so drained, so ill; perhaps Ange is making a terrible mistake, letting her off without her…

"How are you feeling?" Cam asks quietly.

"I'm… I'm okay. Thanks for this."

"Don't mention it," Nicky insists. "We miss you. This one's leaving the flat in a total tip with you gone, I need you home to back me up."

"Hey, I'm not that bad."

"See? It's like he doesn't even notice the chaos he leaves in his wake. Are you ready to go? I'm not going to moan about Cam the whole time we're out, I promise."

Chloe turns back to Ange, awkward. "Did you say you had a coat I can…"

"Yep. Yep, I did, I'm not going to throw you out into the cold without a coat when you've been shivering in here with the heating on full, am I? Do you want this?"

"Oh my god, Mum, where did you get this thing, the Arctic Circle?"

"Oi, none of that, or I won't lend it to you. Marks and Spencers. Your nana bought it for me when we moved up to Aberdeen, I couldn't hack the first winter."

"So it's as old as I am, then?"

"And it's never failed me yet." She holds out the coat, helps Chloe into it as though she's a small child. "Alright. I'll be in when you get back, but take the spare key just in case, yeah? There you go. Oh, and that's for you three."

"Oh, no, Ange, you don't have to do that..."

"You do realise I'm an adult, Mum, right? You don't have to give me money to go out with my mates. I get sick pay…"

"I know. But it's on me today, so take it, please. Go and have fun. _Relax_. And you can text me if you need me."

"Thanks, Mum. See you later."

"Love you, sweetheart. Have a good time. Cam," Ange says quietly, waits until Nicky is gently starting to lead Chloe along the driveway, arms around her shoulders, safely out of earshot. "Do me a favour? Order her the largest hot chocolate they do, whipped cream, all the extras? See if you can get some proper food into her as well, but I've never known her turn down hot chocolate."

Cam nods sincerely. "On it. She'll be alright with us, you don't need to worry. Give yourself a break too, yeah? We'll look after Chloe."

"Thank you," Ange whispers faintly. "Thank you."

She stands and watches them until they've disappeared out of sight, just to be sure, just so she knows Chloe isn't limping so badly she won't make it up the road to the café and she doesn't need to run and rescue her, before she locks the door again at last.

"Belarus," Ange says quietly to herself, once the door is firmly closed. "Belarus. Although how that works with your awful circulation, Chloe, I really don't know."


End file.
